


Christmas Cliche

by holdouttrout



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-20
Updated: 2007-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdouttrout/pseuds/holdouttrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor has a bad sense of direction. First person Christmas Cliche fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Cliche

I sleep through the night. Every night. Even when I was a kid, nothing could wake me except my alarm or the presence of someone in my room—my dad used to get a kick out of standing by my bed until I’d jerk awake, or better yet, he’d watch me pretend to be asleep.   
  
So when I woke up that morning, wide awake, I knew someone was in my house.  
  
I lifted the covers off me and swung my feet lightly to the carpet by my bed. I stepped carefully over to my door, hoping I remembered where the ornament boxes were so I could avoid them.  
  
I heard nothing through the house, just the normal sounds of the heater and a slight woosh from the cars still moving outside. Through the cracked door I caught the glow of the lights from my Christmas tree.   
  
I opened the door without a sound and grabbed my gun from the drawer of the table near me. No sense in being stupid, even if it proved that this feeling was merely a product of my overactive imagination. I held the gun ready as I entered the hallway, still not seeing anything. I just turned the corner into the living room when I heard someone in the kitchen.  
  
Swearing.   
  
I recognized the voice and a rush of relief coursed through me for a moment. Then I felt anger and confusion replace the worry.   
  
I put the gun down and flipped on a light.   
  
“What the hell are you doing in my kitchen at this time of night?” I demanded.   
  
The figure in the kitchen blinked and sort of hopped on one foot.   
  
“What, no sir?” he asked irritably. He was dressed in what looked like the male equivalent of pajamas—boxer shorts and a ratty T-shirt. He was barefoot, and I began to suspect he’d run into my kitchen table. I’ve stubbed my own toes on it more than once, and I have the sneaky suspicion it just doesn’t like feet.   
  
“I don’t think intruders who wake me up in the middle of the night deserve proper military protocol,” I replied.   
  
“Yeah, well, I think my buddy Thor has a little trouble with remembering my address,” he said.   
  
And that’s exactly when it got awkward. Because I’m pretty sure that’s when he and I both realized what I was wearing. Or, rather, not wearing. Which was pants. Because I hate wearing pants to bed. Actually, we were lucky I was wearing a shirt. Granted, it wasn’t the most…modest shirt, but who expects to be pulled out of bed on Christmas Eve, anyway?   
  
“Carter,” he said thoughtfully. At least, I hoped it was thoughtfully, “I haven’t seen that shirt since—“   
  
“Don’t even think about it, sir.”   
  
He wasn’t listening.   
  
“…Since that wacky alien virus that made you jump me in the locker room.”   
  
Oh, he was definitely not wide awake. Thor must have only kept him a couple of minutes. Thor and I needed to have a little chat next time I saw him.   
  
And what was I supposed to say now, anyway?   
  
“Sir, do you need a ride home?”   
  
He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was looking me up and down. I could feel myself blushing as he finally shook himself and said, carefully,   
  
“Carter, this is all just some weird, wacked-out dream, right? I mean, I’m not seriously standing in your kitchen at a freakish hour of the morning on Christmas in my underwear, right?”   
  
I finally took pity on him.   
  
“Sorry, sir. I think this is real.”   
  
“Huh.”   
  
“Let me…I’ll just…be right back.” I turned to go back to my bedroom, and I swear I could feel him try desperately not to look at my ass. And fail. Yeah, I really shouldn’t have felt good about that.   
  
Not that I did.   
  
Unfortunately, as soon as I reached my room and had thrown on some flannel pants and a sweater, I realized we had a problem.   
  
“Uh, sir? I don’t think we’re getting anywhere tonight.”   
  
Okay, I could have phrased that a bit better.   
  
There was a pause the size of a small mountain. Finally, I heard Jack clear his throat and say, “What?”   
  
“There’s, uh, no way we’re driving in this fog. Sir.”   
  
And…the rough spot was smoothed over. More or less. Carter’s patented method for dealing with awkward, potentially regulation-breaking situations: be precise and throw in a ‘sir’ for good measure.   
  
I heard him mutter something that sounded like, “Damn you, Thor.”   
  
I said, hurriedly. “I’ll bring some blankets out and you can sleep on the couch. Sir.”   
  
A sigh. “That’ll be fine, Carter.”   
  
I grabbed two blankets from my closet and passed by the kitchen on my way to the living room. Jack turned to follow me, and that’s when he hit the edge of the table. Again.   
  
“Damn it, Carter! This table has it out for me.”   
  
I couldn’t help myself; I started to laugh. The absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with me, and while normally I control myself pretty well around Jack, it was asking a bit much to ignore him while he was hopping on one foot, swearing, in my kitchen just past 2:00am.   
  
For a minute, Jack stared at me as if I’d lost my mind, his pain momentarily forgotten. It only made me laugh harder, until I was having trouble breathing, especially when his expression changed to one of concern.   
  
I finally got control over myself, and managed to gasp out a “Sorry, sir.”   
  
“Forget apologies, Carter. Are you alright?”   
  
I nodded. “It’s just really, really late.”   
  
Half his mouth turned up in a smile. I really like that smile; it does things to me that aren’t appropriate, but since I normally have other things to focus on, it doesn’t usually have the same impact. Tonight, though, I found myself grinning goofily back, not even remotely aware that anything strange was happening until the mood shifted subtly and I was suddenly aware that Jack had moved closer to me while I was laughing. We stood closer in briefings, closer when we went through the ‘gate, but none of the objective evidence accounted for the fact that I found myself entirely too warm and entirely too aware of his presence. I could tell he realized it, too, by the way his eyes focused entirely on me. I’d seen that look before.   
  
I have no excuse for what happened next. I suspect that “But the Christmas lights from my tree were shining into the kitchen and it made me lose all self-control,” just won’t fly, and the only alien influence we had to rely on was Thor’s slight misdirection, which certainly isn’t enough to explain the fact that I moved closer; then he moved closer, and when we finally met in the middle we kissed. And, oh, it definitely wasn’t an appropriately chaste under-the-mistletoe kiss, even if we had been under mistletoe.  
  
I didn’t even have any in my house.   
  
Somewhere along the way we agreed that “It was Christmas; it doesn’t count,” which made perfect sense at the time, and a short while after that my sweater came off, which made me happy because it really was too hot in my house and because Jack’s reaction to seeing That Tank Top again was really quite amazing.


End file.
